My closet.

Let’s just say I’m not in it, I couldn’t be in it if I wanted to. There just isn’t enough space to camp in there.

It is about that time of year when I return back to Toronto after another exhausting term, and the first thing I must do is put back all my crap back into their respective places. Kitchenware is packed away in big plastic boxes, perishables back in kitchen, and of course my clothes go back in the closet.

And every end-of-term, I have sit in front my closet and think how exactly I’m going to organize and fit all my crap. This usually means actually trying garments on again to see if it fits and evaluate if it’s still up to my liking. I have no choice but to do this because there is absolutely no way I’m going to merge two closets into one.

Now don’t get me wrong, some of you might know that I’m not a big clothes spender, especially when compared to my queer peers. I consider myself only to be a moderate shopper. The main reason for my lack of closet space is the fact that my mom has essentially invaded my closet. I have for many years have considered her what I call a ‘closet imperialist’; she waits for the most opportune time and invades closet spaces when family members’ defenses are low (i.e. when I’m in Waterloo).

Anyways, she’s made quite the British Empire here at home. She has managed to invade the basement closets, as well as some space in my sister’s closet, that of course doesn’t include her own closet space which is 90% occupied by her, and the remaining by my dad.

Part of my closet collection is a selection of mink furs. Gasp! I know, send in the PETA crew and arrest my mom! I think that it’s almost a staple for many Hong Kong women of my mom’s generation. I have to admit that I have tried it on. I must say that I look fabulously pimpy in it especially when I add in a set of shades to go with it. I might need some bling too.

Anyways, I’m quite pissed that the fur is still lying in my room, not because of my righteous will for the ethical treatment of animals, but because I just need the extra closet space. The space these corpses-turned-coats take up is equivalent to about 8 or 9 hung shirts. I told her to put it somewhere else, but she insists that my closet is the only space with the right climatic conditions. I snubbed her because that answer was just lame.

My mom has not worn the coats in years, and I’m sure that she never will, for numerous reasons beyond it being atrociously unfashionable. Because of that, I suggested to her to sell the coats on eBay or something. She looked at me as if I uttered something unfathomable; similar to a face I’d expect when I tell them I’m gay. Though I should’ve known better; she wanted to keep them for memorabilia’s sake, and I suppose that I can respect that.

So corpses continue to live in my closet. Send in the CSI crime lab.